Mark, your poem made me think of this poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
SPRING
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
I have been trying to think why I connected your poem to this one. I think it is because both suggest very mixed feelings about spring and what it will and won't bring. Yours is more suggestive, hers more direct, but I like the mix of feelings that remain unresolved in both.
Susan
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